England Gun Shot
by xXSilver-TurtleXx
Summary: TAKE A STAND AGAINST SUICIDE. Be nice. Even when you don't want to. Sometimes it makes the difference to talk to the kid picked last. England (c) Hetalia The story is mine though, feel free to not steal it.


Hello.

My name is Arthur Kirkland.

Though no one ever calls me that.

The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland; My official name, a jumble of useless vowels and consonants that no one bothers to remember. They don't even call me that.

England, Britain, Brit, Limey…

Names aren't important anyways. Look at me! I'm rambling about useless information.

Let's start again. If we're going to do this, we're going to do it proper.

Hello.

My name is Arthur Kirkland.

I go by various titles, but Arthur is a particular favorite of mine I save for special circumstances.

The only people I have ever let call me Arthur are my younger brothers. My older brothers did it without even asking.

I hate them. My older brothers, they were monstrous. Everyone who ever took care of me were horrible.

I'm not trying to sound unthankful, believe me, I'm not. I'm sure they really did love me. Deep down.

They were terrible at expressing it.

The yelling, the fighting, it was all too much! Ridiculous tomfoolery that I had no patience for. I was always bitter, mad, snapping at people that probably didn't deserve it.

Like Francis.

He really wasn't all that bad to me.

Sure, he was constantly bragging, and we exchanged a fair amount of insults and fists. Sure I told him I hated his guts.

But… I was always jealous of him. In a way. He always seemed to have it together. Like he knew that no matter how many revolutions France had, no matter how many times it lost or won, he was going to make his mark. He knew he had a future, even if that future changed with the evolution of culture and technology that he was immersed in.

For blooming sake, Arthur, pay attention! This is no time to be thinking about that frog. Lot of good he ever was, constantly picking at you and telling you you were an idiot.

Let's try again…

Hello.

My name is Arthur Kirkland.

I go by various titles, but Arthur is a particular favorite of mine I save for special circumstances.

I have a friend named Francis, who I fight with too much. But that's okay.

I have a little brother named Alfie.

Excuse me, I'm not allowed to call him that anymore.

Now he's America. Not Alfred, not Alfie, not Al.

Just…

America.

He won't even let me say his name anymore without acting all awkward about it. That closeness we used to share when he was younger is gone now.

What happened?

I know it was my fault… It's always my fault.

Everyone around me were horrid role models, how was a young chap like me supposed to know?

Now… Everyone is independent. Everyone.

I failed.

I wanted to be different. A good big brother, someone that everyone could look up to.

I was strong. I was loving.

But no, it's impossible for me to do anything right. I didn't know what to do, so I did the opposite of what I was supposed to do.

And look where it got me!

This mess. Now I have no little brothers.

I loved them. I really did. I did the best I could to help everyone out, and I still do, even when they don't want me to.

But now.

It's not Alfie and Arthur.

It's America and England. Or Britain. But usually 'that Limey over there.'

What a nice title to bear. Staple it to my back, why don't you, so everyone know that's what I am.

That stupid Limey.

Over there.

Augh… I'm never going to get this right, am I…

Okay. One more time.

With a scowl, Arthur bit back tears and deleted the video on his computer with a click of a button. Taking a deep breath, he straightened the camera and started the video. Looking directly at the screen, he saw how dull his green eyes were becoming, how messy and unkempt his ragged blonde hair was.

What a mess. He would have been ashamed of his appearance, but he was really not in the mood to care at the moment.

Shutting his eyes, he opened his mouth and began speaking again. He would have to concentrate harder on not going off on a tangent.

"Hello." He whispered, then cleared his throat, opening his eyes again. They sagged half shut, the energy to keep them awake funneled to concentrate on speaking.

"My name is Arthur Kirkland." He was louder this time, though there was no confidence in his voice.

"I go by various titles, but Arthur is a particular favorite of mine I save for special circumstances." He rubbed his thumbs against each other under his desk.

"I have a friend named Francis, who I fight with too much. But that's okay." He laughed awkwardly, a sad chuckle with no humor in it.

"I have a little brother named Al- Erm, America." He squeezed his eyelids shut, berating himself for making yet another mistake. It was best to just keep rolling with it. Maybe no one would notice.

"I'm a little over one thousand and one hundred years old." Sadly, he couldn't make his mind do the math required to figure out how old he was. He had lost count, since it had been so long. He scarcely remembered his birthday now a days anyway.

"I was founded in 927." That he could remember. Standing there, with his brothers, as the King stepped up and declared him a country. What a day…

"It is now 2013." What a long time to live. The weight of every little thing drags at your soul, like a constant iron clasped to your ankles. And what had he gotten for all his hard work? Nada. Zip. A pointless dreary existence.

Arthur tightened his grip on the gun.

"I want… W-Want to thank everyone who was nice to me." He swallowed, his mouth dry. "And apologize. I beg you to not take this personally." Maybe Francis would forgive him. Maybe Alfre- America, sorry, would remember his name now. "Although, I don't think there really is anyone left to be nice to me, so it doesn't matter. J-Just ignore that last comment."

"And for those of you who broke me. Who tore every little bit of me d-down…" He opened his eyes, the remaining intensity of his soul glaring into the camera. "I hope you're happy."

The barrel of the gun felt strange in his mouth, foreign. It clicked uncomfortably against his teeth and dusted his tongue with a foul taste. Blinking, he slowly pulled it out.

"Hello." He put it back in.

"Goodbye."

His body was collected the next morning.

The video was released on youtube, as a small sticky note on the keyboard requested.

A small cross marked a mound of earth his body was buried in.

The question is…

Were there any tears shed? Did anyone mourn?

Arthur Kirkland would never know.

From his point of view, if you could in actuality ask a corpse this question, the answer would be no.

Did you cry?

Did you mourn?

Imagine, if you will…

A young man. Blonde, rather small for his age, with green eyes that sparkled like emeralds. He had messy hair, and thick eye brows that furrowed into the shape of a v when he was annoyed, or simply concentrating. Yes, he had bad teeth, and his accent was thick. He was sarcastic and, to be honest, a bit rude.

Did you make fun of him?

When he got on your nerves, did you lose patience and yell?

Did you ever bother to try and figure out why the walls around his heart were so thick?

Or did you walk away, fists clenched, as you listened to him insult you because he did not know what else to do.

Because that's all he had ever heard.

Because the one time he had opened up, he had let someone in, he had shown them love and affection…

He had his heart broken.

Could you have stopped that? That's the question.

Maybe, if you had decided to help him break down his walls. If you had smiled in kindness instead of laughing at him and teasing him. If you had thrown him a compliment on an occasion or three.

Maybe that video wouldn't be on youtube.

Maybe that gun wouldn't have been shoved between his teeth in a futile desperation to blow away every disgusting label and broken fragment of his beaten soul.

Did you cry?

Did you mourn?

Did you care?

If you did, why wait until it's too late to say the nice things. Why wait until it's too late to wish you had been more patient, more kind. Why wait until it's too late to want to be friends with a boy like Arthur Kirkland?

Assumption is a dangerous thing. You assumed he was fine. He always boasted about how great he was, how he didn't need anyone, how he preferred to be alone.

Lies?

Yes.

Did you know?

Deep down, you did. If you had searched, you could have stopped it.

But you didn't.

You flew with the crowd. You rolled your eyes whenever his patience thinned, you shunned him whenever you didn't want to deal with his drama.

You could have been nice.

You could have been accepting.

You could have tried to help.

But you didn't.

Did you cry?

Does it matter?

He won't ever know.


End file.
